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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30144723">harvest moon</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/tmrs/pseuds/kingofthings'>kingofthings (tmrs)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Grand Theft Auto V</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 12:00:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,991</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30144723</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/tmrs/pseuds/kingofthings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>the awkward moment when you and your best buddy accidentally choose the same spot to bury a body under the moonlight.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Michael De Santa/Trevor Philips</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>37</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>harvest moon</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>thank you becuzmdsaidineededpersonality for not only being my beta, but also always supporting my writing &lt;3<br/>on and the title is from the song harvest moon by neil young</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The chilly air coming from the rolled down windows of the car gives Michael a chill, he rolls the neck to get rid of. It helps to lose some of the tension, but not all of it. He was past the explosive moment already. All the anger and the hatred was gone, replaced by focus.</p><p>On any other occasion, the radio would be on as he drove down the road to Chiliad Mountain State Wilderness, near the old and now extinct Altruist's camp, blasting Los Santos Rock Radio songs he would hum happily along… Not tonight though. He could close the windows, but then he would be stuck with the smell of dirt and blood. Besides, the cold wind reminds him of old times. It fits the mood in a way that's so poetic, he couldn't have put together a script himself. There's only one thing missing.</p><p>His eyes leave the passenger seat to fall briefly on his dusty hands around the wheel, the stains of mud on the cuffs of the baby pink dress shirt matching the hem of his navy-blue chinos, and the specs of soil on the brand new black shoes. There's no point trying to avoid it, dirt always gets everywhere, doesn't matter how careful you are. There's no point trying to clean it either, not when you are still not done with the job.</p><p>Finding the way back to the spot is easy since it hasn't been long since his last visit. With the car parked safely behind a thick bush, Michael opens the truck to retrieve the dead body. It's easy to drag up the hill by the edge of the plastic it's wrapped in. Maybe because it's a small one, maybe because he had done it too many times, maybe because rage is one hell of a fuel.</p><p>Something isn't right. There's a sound of huffing echoing on the trees, something's grumbling. Better yet, <em>someone. </em>Michael looks back at the corpse behind him for a moment to make sure that yes, alright, it's still dead. The good news, it wasn't zombies. Bad news, he wasn't alone.</p><p>Already at the top of the hill, he's able to see the shape of a man carrying another one over his shoulder. By the way his limbs hang towards the ground, it's safe to say it's nothing but a lifeless body too. It falls with a muffled thud against the terrain, when the other shakes him off before crouching to run its pockets.</p><p>Taking his chance, Michael picks up the pistol from the back of his pants and hurries quietly to position himself closer to the man, so he doesn't have a chance to escape his bullet if it comes to that.</p><p>"I wouldn't point that at me if I was you…" The other says while standing up slowly, one fist closed by his side and a shovel on the other hand. "I'll bite your hands off and shove them up your ass."</p><p>Michael blinks the confusion away, frowns at the odds. "Trevor?"</p><p>Almost a year ago, at The Hen House during the celebration of the 4th anniversary of The Big One, Trevor had gone too overboard with the drugs and got into a massive fight that he and Frank had no choice but to join in. After Logan, the manager, kicked them out and broke Trevor's loyalty card in half, they headed to The Bay Bar only to get jumped on the way.</p><p>It wasn't pretty. Michael, feeling the body of the young man who had been punching him minutes earlier go limp as the gurgling sound escapes his slit throat, letting the broken bottle fall out of his hand. Trevor screamed how they were back in business above the brawl noise. He waited until the Canadian broke the other guy's neck and then threw himself against him, hand squeezing his airways. <em>"For the last fucking time, T, we're not back. I won’t kill again, understand? Not even for you. I'm done."</em>. That had been the last time they had seen each other, with Franklin breaking them apart, only to tell both to go fuck themselves. Michael had seen the kid since then at least six times, but not Trevor, not even a call. Until that night.</p><p>With the moon at its peak in the clear sky, it's hard to see his face with the cap lid casting a creepy shadow over it, as if he was a serial killer straight from out of a horror movie, which is not too far from the truth at the end of the day. The maniacal laugh he let out only proves it. The familiar sound also confirms that's Trevor.</p><p>"Look who it is!" A handful of dirt falls from his fists when he opens his hands. "Michael Townley…"</p><p>"De Santa." He corrects and puts the weapon back at his pants. "What were you going to do? Throw sand in my eyes like in Bloodsport? It didn't work in the movie and it wouldn't work now. I would still kill you."</p><p>"Please… You're an amazing shooter, but one wrong move, and your head would be off." Trevor pins the shovel on the ground and rests an arm on top of the grip.</p><p>"You're old, Trevor. Even if meth makes you feel like you aren't."</p><p>"And you're fat. I know you'll think I'm just picking at you, but you really need a diet. I was able to hear your loud mouth breathing five minutes before you showed up here."</p><p>"Yeah, right…" Michael snorts, runs the finger through his hair, getting lost momentarily at how many stars it's possible to see from there. Trevor's smiling when their eyes meet again. It makes Michael clear the throat. "What are you doing here, anyway?"</p><p>"Burying a body." Trevor shrugs casually.</p><p>It's so bluntly said that it steals a wholehearted laugh from Michael. But then Trevor nods towards the dug pit a few steps away from them and Michael's frowning again. This time he's also shaking the head.</p><p>"Oh no. Definitely not. This grave is <em>mine</em>!"</p><p>"Excuse me?"</p><p>"You heard me, T!" Michael waves around. "Go dig your own somewhere else!"</p><p>"I got here first and found it…"</p><p>"You found it because I dug it…"</p><p>"You know what?" Trevor licks his lips and points a finger. Michael rolls his eyes. "I should know it was your doing. It's shitty! You've never been good at it."</p><p>"Are you going to leave me a bad review on Bleeter or something?"</p><p>Ignoring him, Trevor goes around the pit, bringing up every little detail he's not in agreement with, as if he was a judge of a grave-digging reality show.</p><p>"You always make it too shallow, too narrow…"</p><p>"Fine, so I can't apply to be a gravedigger at my local cemetery. Mom and dad would be disappointed."</p><p>Trevor mocks him using a fake crying voice. Michael tells him to fuck off and gets distracted by an uneven patch of grass next to his feet, his fingers itching for a cigarette. It's windy at the top of the hill and he raises his elbows in a useless attempt to keep the cold air from hitting his exposed nape.</p><p>"Your problem is that you can't take criticism, Mikey."</p><p>"Me? Is this a joke?"</p><p>"I'm never wrong, so…"</p><p>"Ah, right… Yeah."</p><p>"But don't worry!" Jumping inside the pit, Trevor pulls his jacket sleeves up. "Like always, Uncle T's here for the rescue. Now be useful and pass me the shovel."</p><p>Michael reluctantly does what he's told and watches Trevor work until he realizes he has been actually staring more longingly than he should. He goes to fetch the body from beneath the tree, drags it closer to its final resting place as Trevor climbs back up.</p><p>Their eyes meet and when Trevor's fall on the corpse he brought, Michael reads his mind and growls annoyed while launching himself against him to start a wrestling match, with no punches like they used to do all the time when they were young outlaws on the run together.</p><p>"Fuck off, T!"</p><p>"No, I did all the work!"</p><p>Despite ending up in a messy chokehold, Trevor manages to use his boot to push his guy inside the hole in the ground, at least. Michael lets go of him with a shove and sits down on a fallen log, nearby. That only makes Trevor laugh harder despite unbalancing him enough to send him to the dirt. He picks up the cap and puts it back on the head after sitting down next to Michael cheerfully.</p><p>"You're still too slow for me, big boy."</p><p>"Fuck you."</p><p>Trevor chuckles and Michael tries to hit him in the ribs, but his arm gets caught before it can do any contact. Instead of letting go, Trevor holds onto it, one hand near the crook of the forearm and the other around the wrist. He's also sitting much closer than necessary, but Michael's cold so he doesn't care that much. The way it feels like not a single day has passed since they were together amazed him, makes him remember how much he missed this.</p><p>They share the silence until Trevor bumps the body against his.</p><p>"So, the wolves can't help but come out to play on a full moon, eh?"</p><p>"I guess…" Michael points the chin towards the grave. "Who was the poor bastard you murdered this time?"</p><p>"Ahm, you know… just a guy I knew."</p><p>"You knew in what way?"</p><p>Their eyes meet and Trevor squints, inches his face closer enough for Michael to feel the smell of alcohol from his breath and earth from his hands.</p><p>"<em>Intimately,</em>" he whispers before smiling with all teeth. "Are you jealous?"</p><p>"Me? Jealous?"</p><p>"Yes, Mikey. You, jealous. You're always jealous of my boyfriends."</p><p>"Nah, I'm always <em>sorry</em> for your boyfriends, it's different."</p><p>"I know I'm a handful, but at least I'm fun."</p><p>"That's debatable, but not really the reason why I'm sorry for them. You wanna know why?" Trevor raises the eyebrows, nods curious and Michael can't help but smirk before even saying. "Filling my shoes is… man, it's tough."</p><p>His laugh mixes up with Trevor's complaints and all the curses he's sending his way in the night for a moment. Trevor pushes him off, crossing the arms and rolling the eyes.</p><p>"You're a moron…"</p><p>"What was his name?"</p><p>"I'm not telling you."</p><p>"Was it Michael?"</p><p>"No…"</p><p>"It was Michael."</p><p>"It wasn't, okay? It was Atticus."</p><p>"Atticus? That's the name of a-"</p><p>"Don't say it," Trevor growls in between closed teeth. "Don't. Fucking. Say. It."</p><p>"… Hipster."</p><p>"Fuck you, Michael! You're pissing me off. You've no right to say shit about me or my dead ex-boyfriend when you disappear for eleven months! You promised me to never disappear again."</p><p>"I know. I'm sorry."</p><p>"Never heard this one before."</p><p>"Yeah, well…"</p><p>"Looks like you broke another promise with that one, eh?"</p><p>He points to the wrapped up dead person still waiting to be properly disposed and Michael scratches the stubble, pondering telling Trevor or not about it. For a while, he gets lost in the images of the scene, the pleading voice of his daughter, the cold look on her face when it was over. Michael remembers cleaning up the blood out of her, wrapping her up on his jacket, and saying it was over, that everything was going to be okay.</p><p>"It wasn't me."</p><p>"You're burying random bodies now? Man, retirement fucked you up."</p><p>"It was Tracey. The body…" Michael repeats to reinforce, his voice shakes when hearing himself saying out loud, makes everything feel too real. "It was Tracey."</p><p>He expects Trevor to say something, anything, but he just keeps looking at him with frowned eyebrows and mouth slightly open.</p><p>"She was out with some friends and this guy attacked her on the street and she handled it."</p><p>"How did she do it?" Trevor stands up from the log to walk back to the grave and unwrap the body without a care. "Do you know?"</p><p>"A switchblade."</p><p>"Does she still have it?"</p><p>Their eyes meet and both look surprised for different reasons. Trevor seems ecstatic with the news, while Michael with disgust.</p><p>"You knew about my kid having a switchblade?"</p><p>"Of course, I know about it, I'm the one who gave it to her."</p><p>"You <em>gave</em> my <em>child</em> a switchblade?"</p><p>"First of all, yes. It's in her favorite color with some butterflies and it has her initials. The real ones, by the way. Second, she's not a child. She's a woman that luckily had something to defend herself with… or we wouldn't be just simply putting him on the ground. So, you're welcome."</p><p>"Yeah… I guess."</p><p>Michael hates how he can't ignore the reality of it all. How his daughter, the same sweet and adorable little blonde baby girl he held so carefully in between his arms, so many times swearing to protect was now tainted forever for murdering someone. Taking a life changes you in a way you can't recover from, having killed so many before, he knew about that. Maybe Amanda was right after all and this was his fault. If only Michael was a normal dad…</p><p>For a moment, he doesn't know what hurts him the most, the fact Tracey did it or the fact that he failed her again. Either way, it burns his insides.</p><p>But then, while Trevor's checking the corpse like a teacher going through a student's final test, he thinks about his words. Michael's mind goes to possible alternative scenarios where Tracey takes the place of every pretty, young, girl who fell prey to a special, vicious, breed of monster in horror stories he heard first-hand, more times than anyone should, from jail or ex-crew members, like Brad Snider. Trevor's right, if she didn't have that switchblade and defended herself… There would be nothing left of the guy to bury.</p><p>He's so tense thinking about the things he would do if something had happened to Tracey that he misses Trevor coming back to sit by his side.</p><p>"Los Santos made you a giant pussy, eh?" Something warm is wrapped around Michael's shoulder and he notices it’s Trevor's jacket. "We have been through worst weathers, wearing less and here you are, shaking like a tree's branch."</p><p>"Fuck you, I'm just… it’s scary to think…"</p><p>"I know. Why do you think I gave the thing to her in the first place?" He sighs and rests his elbow on his knee, places the left side of his face at the palm of his hand. "Is she okay?"</p><p>"She's better now. A bit jumpy, obviously, but other than that… she’s just fine."</p><p>"And about the…" Trevor whistles and nods to the body. "Anything?"</p><p>"If you're wondering if she seems remorseful, no. She was actually eating a take-out of Chow Mein and watching Fame or Shame when I left." He looks at Trevor to see him smiling approvingly. "Are you sure she's not your kid?"</p><p>"Uhm… I'm only about 35% sure."</p><p>Michael rolls his eyes and looks away but laughs along with Trevor when he wraps one arm around his neck and the other around his waist in a hug, it warms him up more than any bonfire could. With his forehead resting against the back of his head, Trevor's words go straight into his ear.</p><p>"She's yours, you know why? I would have skinned his face when he was breathing and worn it like a mask, so the bastard could see himself while I chewed on him."</p><p>"That's more your style, for sure. Messy."</p><p>"You’re damn right it is!" He pulls away slightly so they can look at each other. "She went for the axillary artery. Fairly easy to access, you go upwards into the armpit with the edge of the blade towards you then yank out and it fucks up the arm, the heart does the rest. She was smart. Little Tracey was rational, analytical, deliberated, skillful, precise, practical. Just like her dad. A true Townley."</p><p>"Shut up, T." Michael tries to act like he isn't smiling like a fool, but he is and they both know it. "What's this? Are you using my daughter's first murder as an excuse to flirt with me?"</p><p>"Look, buddy, I'm just naturally really good at stroking two of your biggest attributes… Your cock <em>and</em> your ego."</p><p>"Okay, I have to give you this one." Michael laughs wholeheartedly. "But putting your jacket around my shoulders and all that, is this 1954? And you call me tacky…"</p><p>"Come on, am I not your knight in shining armor?"</p><p>"Please…"</p><p>"What? Just because I like dresses you think I can't-"</p><p>"No, not at all, I like when you wear dresses, is just that you're more like a be-" Michael can't stop laughing to say it and Trevor knocks their knees together impatiently. "Like a beast in rags riding a fucking dragon."</p><p>"Nice… Really nice. You're so funny that along the way you became a joke yourself, do you know that?"</p><p>"Oh, yeah?"</p><p>"Just like a schoolboy, Mikey doesn't have the balls to make a move so he teases and he bullies and he goes home to lay on his bed, dreaming about the reactions he got, wondering if one day someone will get tired of taking it and give Mikey boy what he wants so much."</p><p>Partly, because that's a very accurate description of a younger version of himself, and partly, because of the low tone of Trevor's voice that sounded like something between a threat and a promise, Michael's insides were not the only thing twitching in excitement.</p><p>"So, you think <em>I </em>am flirting with you?"</p><p>"I <em>know</em> this is your way of flirting with me, pal. Very immature, but it is."</p><p>"If it's so immature, it's a good thing that you're wrong then…"</p><p>"If I'm wrong then why are you looking at me like this?"</p><p>"Like what?" Michael just noticed he had been staring at Trevor's lips when he forces his eyes away and snorts, playfully pushing him slightly away. "I'm not looking like nothing."</p><p>"You're looking like someone who's dying to kiss me. The ques-"</p><p>"Fuck you…"</p><p>"- Will you?"</p><p>"What, fuck you?"</p><p>"Well…" Trevor crooks the head with a pensive expression, but Michael can feel him getting closer again. "I was talking about kissing, but honestly, I'll take whatever."</p><p>The moonlight cast away the shadows the cap was projecting on half of Trevor's face when Michael uses his finger to tip the visor up higher. He barely seems to notice his movements, he's looking at him so fondly with those warm, shiny hazel eyes it makes Michael skin prickles. It’s as if he still sees something there… something beyond the wrinkles, beyond the past lies, beyond the denial and trauma. Something still worth being treasured and Michael can't, for the love of God, understand how it's still possible after so many years.</p><p>"Do you really still want…"</p><p>He only notices he had actually spoken those words when Trevor smiles and blinks softly, matching the low tone of his whisper as if the dead bodies could hear them.</p><p>"You? Oh, I do. All the time, Mikey."</p><p>The proof of that comes soon when Michael cups his face and watches him close his eyes before their mouths are even hovering over each other, the air escapes Trevor's parted lips like a sigh as his chest rises and falls quickly in anticipation, always so devoted and still so trusting. It sets Michael chest ablaze, it moves him as it has always done. When their lips meet at least, a moan is swallowed up in between the wet smack of tongues when their heads switch sides to fit better, but they couldn't even tell who it came from being as lost in the moment as they were. So much that Michael barely notices Trevor stranding his legs to sit on his lap until the log cracks and send both to the ground.</p><p>Laying on his back, Michael's in pain. Trevor however seems overjoyed.</p><p>"Goddammit, T! Stop laughing and help me get up."</p><p>Trevor, who had supported his weight on the elbows to avoid crushing him, gets up easily still laughing. Michael takes the hand he offers and gets back on his feet.</p><p>"Are you okay, old man? Do we need to find you a new hip?"</p><p>"Fuck you, I'm fine…" Michael massages the ribs with the fingertips before rolling his neck to crack it. "Since your boyfriend found a new place to stay, I think you're free, huh?"</p><p>"Dumping the body was the last thing on my to-do list of the day, yes."</p><p>"Good, because you owe me a beer for this before I go home."</p><p>"Okay sugartits, it's not my fault, not even nature is strong enough to hold all your mass, but-" Trevor raises the finger to stop Michael from starting blabbering, watches him open and closes the mouth with a frown. "But I'm okay with it as long as you remember that you owe me some good time, cowboy."</p><p>"Deal."</p><p>"A <em>real</em> good time."</p><p>"I'm always a good time…"</p><p>"Eh…" Trevor makes a face and ignores Michael's middle finger. "We'll see about that."</p><p>"Oh, you'll see it alright…"</p><p>"Soon."</p><p>"As soon as possible."</p><p>"Great… Now, you finish burying the bodies."</p><p>"Sur-No! Fuck, no."</p><p>"You said it was your grave, didn't you?"</p><p>"But it's your dead guy in there!"</p><p>Trevor kicks the wrapped man inside the hole in the ground, without a care in the world and points to it smiling with all his teeth again. "Now yours is in there too. They can keep each other company."</p><p>"My back, it's hurting."</p><p>"Oh, I thought you said you were okay."</p><p>"It was sarcasm, T! And I need to check up on Tracey."</p><p>Decided, Michael's patting his pockets for his car keys when he realizes Trevor has a closed fist out and raised eyebrows. It takes a while for him to understand what he wants, but then he snorts at the idea.</p><p>"We're not going to decide that on Rock, Paper, Scissors."</p><p>"Why not? We've done it before." He shrugs casually, twisting his wrist from side to side playfully. "You're just scared of losing to me again, eh? Pussy-boy. Come on."</p><p>With something like a mixture between a sigh and a grunt, Michael takes a few steps closer and raises a closed fist, too.</p><p>"Okay, but not that Best of Three bullshit. It's all or nothing."</p><p>"All or nothing, baby."</p><p>Michael thanks God the moon is the only witness, because two 50+ years old men playing a kid’s game in the middle of the woods to decide who commits the crime of disposal of a human corpse, after making out on a dead tree log and almost breaking a rib, is beyond embarrassing. It gets worse when he manages to lose. He's pissed off, but Trevor does a silly dance around him to celebrate and Michael can't help but laugh, even while telling him to shut up.</p><p>With the shovel in his hands, he gets to work, not without complaining under his breath, which doesn't seem to affect Trevor at all. When the opening is almost covered with dirt as if nothing had happened, the Canadian whistles in approval saying he did a good job, just to poke fun at him. He's about to make a crude joke about filling holes up when he's slapped on the ass and kissed on the neck.</p><p>"You're a moron. You know that, right?"</p><p>"And you suck, Townley." Trevor’s hot breath tickles Michael's nape when he whispers next to his ear. "Lucky me, eh?"</p><p>Taking the shovel out of his hand, Trevor says something about going ahead to buy beers before leaving Michael to watch him walk into the night while whistling an old song to himself. When he's far enough, Michael puts on his jacket properly and walks the opposite way back to his car, humming the same melody.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this story is one of my two contributions to the fanzine The Lost Boys Vol 2 that is out now!</p><p>if you'd like to check out some amazing work you can download the fanzine for free here: https://gumroad.com/l/thelostboysvol2</p><p>on the page you need to set the price as $5 and then use the discount code thelostboys2 on the checkout. if you feel like donating, all of the money will go to the charity called The Trevor Project. one way or another, go support the artist and people who made it come to life!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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